Blackbird Mother

Blackbird Mother
by Blonde Solomon
You fed me a scrambled egg
on a hamburger bun
and asked me: Do you want the ketchup?
I said: No, thank you.
Returning to the nest,
I see this offering of food
from a new perspective.
I know now that,
though it is only a worm,
you gave away your energy,
your time and your motion,
to gather it.
You give me no excuse
and you don’t have to.
I love you for this scrambled egg
on this hamburger bun
and when the ketchup bottle
floats by me in its
familiar rotation,
I grab it from the air
and figure: Why not?
How could this sandwich
not be improved
with a little ketchup?
It was a good instinct.
I saw a shining glint
of what was probably joy
in your wide, black eye.

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